This book is dedicated to the millions of people—men, women, and children—who are still enslaved in countless places around the globe.

“Fly, thought, on wings of gold!

Go settle upon the slopes and the hills,

where, soft and mild, the sweet airs

of our native land smell fragrant.”

“Va pensiero”, from “Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves”,

Giuseppe Verdi, Nabucco, 1842

Lyrics by Temistocle Solera

I

“… Arriving from the North they cast anchor here

by mandate or by chance in the service of their king:

navigators and pirates

slave traders thieves contrabandists

common folk

also rebel outcasts

and Jewish children

so tender that they faded

like sun-dried ears of corn.”

Conceição Lima: “Afro-Insularity”,

quoted in Kathleen Becker,

São Tomé and Principe: The Bradt Travel Guide, 2014

HISTORICAL NOTE

For nearly 1,500 years, Jews lived in Spain—for the most part, in harmony with their Muslim and Christian neighbors. But in 1391, conditions began to worsen. Anti-Jewish riots spread throughout Spain, thousands of Jews were killed and thousands more were forced to convert to Catholicism. They were called conversos, or New Christians. (People also called them Marranos, but that word meant “swine” and was an insult.)

On March 31, 1492, Ferdinand of Aragón and Isabella of Castile, the king and queen of Spain, signed the Edict of Expulsion. One month later, the edict was announced publicly. The monarchs gave the Jews a bitter choice: convert to Catholicism or leave Spain forever. If they did not convert and stayed in Spain, they would be put to death.

Why did the rulers enact such a severe decree? The edict stated that they feared the Jews would influence the conversos to return to Judaism. Also, the monarchs and nobles of Spain wanted to avoid paying the Jews back for the heavy loans they had incurred while waging the recent war to wrest Granada from Muslim control.

Because the Spanish Jews had only three months before they had to leave—by the end of July—they were forced to sell their homes and possessions at rock bottom prices. Unfortunately, their Christian neighbors profited from the Jews’ desperate plight. As one priest wrote:

Indeed, the Christians took their many estates, rich houses and landed properties for a small amount of money…. They exchanged a house for an ass, and a vineyard for a small piece of cloth or linen, because they could not take out either gold or silver.1

It’s important to note that any Christians who tried to help the Jews—and some did—risked losing their own possessions. The Edict forbade Christians to “publicly or secretly receive, shelter, or defend any Jew or Jewess…under pain of losing all their property.”2

Many Jews went overland to nearby Portugal or by sea to Morocco; others to Italy (especially Naples and Ferrara), or to the Ottoman Empire where they were welcomed with open arms.

When approximately 20,0003 Spanish Jews arrived in Portugal, King João II (John) initially allowed them to enter. After they paid a head tax of eight cruzados4, most of the Spanish Jews had very little to live on. If they couldn’t pay, they became slaves of the king or of his nobles.

If the Jews did manage to pay the fee, they were crowded into the juderia (Jewish quarter) or in refugee camps. They overwhelmed the resident Portuguese Jews, who felt burdened by this sudden influx of refugees. On their part, the Portuguese Christians, who at that time numbered only about one million, viewed the new arrivals with suspicion.

Portugal was a temporary sanctuary at best. A few relatively prosperous immigrant families were allowed to become permanent residents, but everyone else was required to get out within eight months.

In 1493, the Spanish Jews in Portugal had three choices: leave the country (if they had paid the head tax), become slaves (if they hadn’t paid the head tax), or convert to Catholicism. (A few years later, the Jews’ only choice was to convert.) In the midst of these turbulent events, by order of King João, 2,0005 Jewish children between the ages of two and twelve were taken from their parents who hadn’t paid the head tax, forcibly baptized, and shipped off to the island of São Tomé (Saint Thomas), 150 miles (about 240 kilometers) off the coast of West Africa.

Approximately 600 children survived the sea journey; the rest died of starvation, thirst, disease, and abuse. The survivors were raised as Christians and forced to work on the new sugar plantations. This is the story of those children.

Chapter 1

Trujillo, Spain

1492

I remember well the last Passover I was to celebrate with my family. Everyone was gathered around the table for the seder, the special Passover meal: Mother, Father, my younger sister, Gracia, my aunts and uncles and cousins.

Father held up the matzah, the unleavened bread, and proclaimed, “Once we were slaves. Now we are free.” Then he recounted the story of how the Israelites had been slaves in Egypt. I always looked forward to hearing how Moses led our people to freedom and to the Promised Land. We dipped celery in salt water, we ate matzah and bitter herbs, and we sang our songs of praise to God. “The Lord is with me. I have no fear of what man can do to me.”

How I loved the Passover meal! We feasted on leek soup, fish with almond sauce, roast chicken, rice with carrots and lemons, and finally, Mother’s famous orange sponge cake.

She and Father had married young, not knowing each other before marriage, as is our custom. But I had rarely heard a harsh word spoken between them. Father had always worked hard—first as a weaver and later in his textile store. Mother took care of us and our small house.

Only two days later, trumpets sounded and royal heralds assembled the people of the great cities and towns of Spain to hear the Edict of Expulsion, which was to change our lives forever. They announced that by the end of July, every Jew must be gone from the realm. Any Jews who had not left by then would be put to death, unless they became Christians.

The edict was clear; the edict was horrifying. I knew then that for the rest of my life, the sound of trumpets would strike terror deep in my bones.

Everywhere—everywhere I went, everywhere I looked—there was panic, confusion, and despair.

“Isaac, where will we go?” Mother wailed. “What should we do?”

Father stood as if dumbstruck. “I…I will ask Rabbi Judah what to do.” He bent down, kissed Mother on the forehead, and hurried out the door.

Mother nodded, but her shoulders shook.

I trembled and held Gracia’s hand. She broke away from me and ran into Mother’s embrace. “I don’t want to go!” she sobbed.

It seemed the world had gone mad. Everything I had always known was now disappearing. I balled my hands into fists. “I won’t go. They can’t make me!”

“Come here, my son,” Mother said. I walked toward her and sank onto the floor at her feet. I admit it. I began to cry. Mother stroked my head. “Whatever happens, we will stay together.”

I swallowed my tears. “Do you promise?”

Mother hugged me. “I promise.”

When Father returned, new lines had appeared on his face. It seemed to me that he had aged years in that short time.

“What did the rabbi say?” Mother asked.

Father hung his head. “We must leave.” His shoulders sagged. “We have no choice unless…”

Mother’s eyes widened. “No! We will not become Christians! Never!”

Father put his arm around her shoulders. “Reyna, we will not. I promise you.” He sighed deeply. “I will not renounce my faith, and that of my fathers and their fathers before them! No! We will leave Spain. We will find a place in this world where we can practice our religion in freedom.”

“And where will that be? Did Rabbi Judah say?”

Father looked away into the distance, as if he could see our destination in his mind. “We shall go to Portugal.”

Mother shook her head and her lips trembled. “Portugal? So far away?”

Father sank down into a chair and ran his fingers through his hair. “Rabbi Judah says the other places we might go—North Africa, Italy, the Ottoman Empire—are even farther away and we would have to go by sea.”

“But how will we travel?” Mother wrung her hands. “The roads are dangerous, filled with robbers and scoundrels.”

“The rabbi says we will go together. Perhaps…that will keep us safe.”

Mother looked at Father with tears welling in her deep brown eyes. She took a shaky breath. “Husband, I shall go where you think is best.” She brushed wisps of stray hairs (did I see gray?) that had escaped from the tight bun at the nape of her neck.

Father held out his arms. “Come, children.” We ran into his arms. “As long as we are together, all will be well.”

Father swallowed hard. “After all,” he continued, “surely the customs and language of Portugal will be familiar to us. And who knows?” he added, “Even though we will be allowed to stay in Portugal for only eight months, perhaps after that the Spanish monarchs will change their minds, and we will be able to return to our homes here.” But in Father’s eyes, I did not see hope. Only fear and despair.

I

Father sold our house and most of our possessions. The money he received in payment was hidden away in the small purse Mother kept beneath her clothes. We were not permitted to take gold or silver out of the country on pain of death. Father packed some linen, wool, and silk, for he hoped to find work in neighboring Portugal.

Mother and Father were busy packing and arranging for our departure. They kept saying time was passing too quickly, but to me it seemed that everything had slowed down, as if I were swimming against a strong tide.

I walked along the familiar cobblestone streets of our town. I recognized every house, every tree, every flower. In my heart, I was saying good-bye to each and every object. I tried to silence the voice in my head: The last time. The last time. The very last time. And It’s not fair! It’s not fair!

I clenched my fists, anger boiling deep inside me. I wanted to strike out at something, anything.

All along the streets of the Jewish quarter, people were calling, shouting, crying, arguing. They were packing their belongings in baskets and boxes, trying to load as much as they could onto carts or wagons; trying to exchange their Spanish homes and land for the paltry goods they were allowed to take with them.

Our bags were packed; the donkey loaded. Father locked the door to the house where our family had lived for generations. He stared at the key, sighed deeply, and put it in his pocket.

Then he took a chisel and pried the mezuzah off the doorpost. Only its hollowed outline remained. I shivered, for it seemed like a phantom of our family that had lived in this house for so long.

Father kissed the mezuzah. He held it in the palm of his hand and stared at it. He beckoned for me to come closer.

“Yes, Father?”

He had a strange look on his face. “Joseph, you will soon be of bar mitzvah age.” He sighed and his shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what will await us in faraway Portugal. Maybe good. Maybe bad.” He held the mezuzah out to me. The olive wood, worn down by thousands of touches, glowed a warm brown. “Take this mezuzah. Guard it. Maybe it will protect you and give you good luck.” Father fingered the tiny piece of parchment inside the case. “My son, always remember the words: ‘Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might. And these words which I command you today shall be upon your heart.’”6

My hand trembled as I grasped the mezuzah and put it into my pocket. For the rest of our journey, every time I held the mezuzah, I felt its weight and its warmth. It was as if the words were indeed carved into my heart.